Page 38 of Surrender
As Rosie got to work, Gwen watched the easy way Keefe leaned against the truck, chatting like he belonged there. Which, clearly, he did. This was his world—easy, warm, rooted. And here she was, a woman who had burned every loaf of bread she ever made and talked to her plants.
Still, when Keefe looked at her and said, “Wait ‘til you try these,” she too felt included, like she wasn’t just an outsider. She was his.
They found a spot on the grassy rise above the sand, burgers wrapped in paper and drinks sweating in the sun. And as they sat cross-legged on the blanket he’d somehow remembered to bring, Gwen realized she was starving—for the food, for the day, for more of this.
She took a bite and groaned. “Okay, I’ll give it to you. This is the best burger I’ve ever had.”
Keefe leaned in, that grin back in full force. “Told you.”
“What’s her secret?”
“She sprinkles just the tiniest smidge of cocaine on the cheese.”
Gwen, who’s mouth was full, stopped chewing and looked at him a moment. He’d said it so easily. “You are joking…”
He winked and grinned. “It’s her homemade sauce. She keeps that recipe locked up tighter than Fort Knox.”
Gwen smiled and finished her bite of food. “You called me your girlfriend.”
“Was I being too presumptuous?”
Gwen shook her head. “No, I liked it. So, I guess that makes you my boyfriend.” She felt a little too old to be saying such things. Boyfriends and girlfriends seemed like something from a bygone age. But it was oh so sweet.
For a moment they just looked at each other, the salty wind tugging at her hair, the sound of gentle rolling waves in the distance. There was something easy and yet heavy in the air between them, like the moment before a kiss or a promise.
Neither of them moved. But they both felt it.
Now they sat side by side on their checkered blanket, nestled into the warm sand while the sea churned and crashed in rhythmic, hypnotic waves just beyond them. She marveled at the sight. Never had she seen so many shades of blue. To their right, just past the weathered stone wall, a quiet campsite stretched out—scattered with cozy caravans and rounded yurts, their canvas sides glowing softly in the fading light. Though it wasn’t busy—after all, it was a weekday—she could almost hear the distant echoes of children’s laughter, imagine neighbors exchanging warm hellos and stories, catching up after months apart. Summer was the only time they truly gathered, their brief, precious season of togetherness beneath these wide, open skies.
Then again, what did she really know about togetherness and family? Only distant dreams that always felt just out of reach.
The salty breeze tossed Gwen’s hair around her face as she traced idle shapes in the sand beside her.
Keefe lay back on his elbows, watching her with quiet amusement. “You’ve got that look again.”
“What look?”
“That one.” He tapped his chest. “Like you’re here, but also miles away. Thinking heavy thoughts.”
She glanced out at the ocean, the horizon hazy and infinite. “I suppose I am.”
He shifted to sit up, brushing sand off his jeans. “Tell me.”
Gwen opened her mouth, then hesitated. Her pulse quickened.
This was it. The perfect moment. No distractions. No noise. Just the two of them, the waves, the bright sky, and the truth.
She swallowed. “Keefe, there’s something I need to tell you.”
His brow furrowed slightly in concern. “Okay...”
She looked at him then—really looked at him. At the kindness in his eyes, the openness. How easily he trusted. How he’d let her in without question. Her throat tightened.
“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” she began, her voice barely above the wind. “When I came here, I wasn’t?—”
A sudden bark cut through the air.
Then shouting.
